


First Snow

by MariaPriest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: Illya has a special way of greeting the first snow of the season.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	First Snow

_New York, 1960_

Illya Kuryakin made his way quickly to New York’s Central Park, anxious to experience the first snow in his new home in a setting as pastoral as the city offered.

Despite the few people around – most, he surmised, were staying indoors because of the prediction of a fierce storm – he chose a bench in a secluded part of the park. The first snow of winter had always been magical to him. His family had understood, and joined him in the ritual he had started when he was two years old. 

He sat, wrapped in thick wool against the chill north wind, and waited for the first few flakes. Though it was unsafe – he was being surveilled by the FBI, the CIA, the KGB, and probably THRUSH – he let his attention wander to the sky. He shivered not from the cold but the anticipation. As he waited, he recalled other first snows.

_Kiev, 1940_

His entire body is bundled in layers of wool rags. He sits on the stoop of the small building where his and six other families live. He looks to the sky and prays silently like his babushka taught him for the snow to hurry its fall to earth. As soon as he spies the first flake, he screams with delight and claps his hands, the sound muffled by the mittens he wears.

“Mama! Papa! Petro! Come out! It is finally here!” He shouts loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. He jumps down to the street and starts his version of the _Hopak_ dance, adding moves he has learned in gymnastics.

The snow starts slowly but picks up rapidly. He dances alone at first, then Papa and Petro join him, while Mama stays on the stoop with the two little ones. All of them are laughing, stopping only to taste the snow.

_Kiev, 1941_

For the first time, he sees the grayness that foretells snow as gloom. He hides in the ruins across from what used to be his home so no one, even his own people, can catch him and take him to the warehouses full of hungry, sick, orphaned children. Death traps, he decided months ago. Better to live on the streets and make it hard for anyone to kill him.

The snow comes, still astounding to him despite what has happened since June. Like some conjurer, the flakes cover the black and gray ashes, the partially burned boards, the ivory chunks of bone. Finally, Mama and Petro are buried under something natural, not hateful.

He finds a roofless room in the building where he hides and begins. He sticks to the traditional choreography; months ago, he had declared his version dead, along with his beloved family. Slowly, the misery in his soul fades as he becomes only movement and the music in his head.

When he finishes, he sighs. Hunting and killing the rest of the Nazis responsible for murdering his family will have to wait – it is too easy to track him in the snow.

_Gypsy camp in a Ukrainian forest, 1944_

“It’s starting!” he proclaims to the whole of the camp of his Romany relatives. Several of his cousins join him in his dance in the center of the circle of wagons. There is no music because there could be Germans near but there is soft clapping to help the dancers stay together. They stir up brown dust from the dead leaves underfoot. The snow picks up and settles the earthen clouds back to the ground.

_Paris, 1953_

The sky promises snow, so he heads for _Jardin des Tuileries_ , the city’s largest public garden. He chooses the _L’été_ because of its relative isolation. Plus his welcome of snow could also serve as an _adieu_ to the season the statue is named for.

Moments after he arrives, the first powder floats to earth. He grins, feeling freer for the first time in years, now that he is at the Sorbonne and out of the Soviet Union, even though the Navy and the KGB are still his masters. He starts the dance, the internalized rhythm effortlessly guiding his body.

Passers-by notice him and stop to watch. Soon, others join them. It is a while before he is aware of the audience. He almost stops, his normally reserved self coming to the forefront, but they seem as happy as he, so he continues.

When he finishes, he bows quickly and races away to fervent applause and shouts for more.

_New York, 1960_

The snow finally arrived. Illya caught a few flakes on his tongue and smiled. Standing, he shed his overcoat. He started slowly to warm up muscles strained and bruised on a recent assignment with his new partner. He turned the music on in his mind’s ear and began the _Hopak_ in earnest. He delighted in the snow, watching it slowly cover the grass and his clothes. He quickly found himself lost in the moment.

When he finished, he held his arms out and turned his head to the sky to let the magic fill him.

Abruptly he dropped to a crouch, pivoted, and drew his weapon in one fluid motion in response to sounds behind him.

It was his partner, Napoleon Solo. He was clapping and grinning like a thrilled child. “That was amazing!” he exclaimed with authentic enthusiasm. “Does what you did have a name?”

Blushing from his embarrassment and the activity he had just completed, he re-holstered his weapon before Solo could admonish him. “It is the _Hopak_ , a Ukrainian folk dance. Every child learns this at an early age.”

“I’d love to learn it. Will you teach me sometime?”

Suspicious, given Napoleon’s penchant for teasing, Illya glared at him.

“Seriously, Illya. I love to dance and that is one I’d like to add to my repertoire.”

“As you wish.” He paused while he brushed the snow from his clothes and pulled on his overcoat. “Why are you here?”

“We’ve got a mission. THRUSH may be looking into switching the newly-elected president with a double. Since it’s such a nice day, I walked rather than use the communicator. I love the first snow.”

The smile that started on Illya’s lips spread to his entire face. Perhaps next year, if things worked out with this partnership, he’d teach Napoleon his version.

the end  
2018

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CoriKay for her excellent suggestions.
> 
> Response to a Section VII challenge using the prompts _gloom_ and _brown_


End file.
